


Exhibit B

by orphan_account



Series: The Clockbox Series [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-22
Updated: 2011-09-22
Packaged: 2017-10-23 22:43:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/255883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein John needs to work on his innuendos.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exhibit B

It had only been eight hours since their tickling endeavor and thankfully things between Sherlock and John couldn’t be any better. That is, considering how the morning began. Sherlock simply was not going to get away with fleeing like John caught him attempting in the early morning.

“Sherlock,” John mumbled as Sherlock shifted off the bed and headed towards the door, he was still half asleep but had learned early in his army days to wake up to even the weakest sound. “Where are you going?”

“I thought that would be obvious, John, seeing as you value sleep, how plebian of you, and I value the time I could be spending elsewhere instead of sleeping, it only makes sense that I leave. I had toes defrosting, need to get back to that.” Sherlock said groggily, he himself had only been awake for a few moments before making his escape.

 _Right_ , John thought. “Well, that’s fine, but you do know that we are going to talk about this?” If they were going to do this, (and how John hoped that they _were_ going to do this) they were going to have to act like adults. He was confused, very confused. Who goes from almost fucking their flatmate to being crowned Tickle King within a matter of minutes?

“Hmm? Oh, of course, right. Get back to sleep, John.” Sherlock said as though he couldn’t be more uninterested in the conversation before making his grand exit and closing the door behind him. Perhaps he should have, but John was not going to lose sleep over this. As Sherlock said, he valued sleep, what the hell was wrong with that? _And fuck you, Sherlock Holmes._ John stretched out, grabbed onto the pillow Sherlock was laying on and closed his eyes once more. The pillow smelled of Sherlock, he couldn’t pinpoint exactly _what_ the smell of Sherlock was, but it was comforting knowing that he had been there, almost surreal. He calmly drifted back to sleep.

It was only couple hours later, half six, that John departed down the stairs, his hair sticking up in funky directions and clad in only his pajama bottoms. Sherlock was bent over the kitchen table tending to what looked like could have once been a toe. He didn’t want to press _that_ issue any further. Before he could put the kettle on, John was being stared down by the World’s Only Consulting Detective. But this wasn’t just any stare, no, this was the look he gave corpses-- the one he used when he not only was looking for something, but had found something magnificent as well.

 _Not yet_ , he thought, _I’m not ready for the total onslaught just yet._ Do you know how overwhelming it is to be ripped apart and put back together by a madman? John turned his attention back to the kettle.

“You’re not disappointed, you’re actually quite the opposite. You had expectations and when they weren’t fulfilled you weren’t angry in the slightest. You’re attracted to me---“

“Well I sure would hope you could figure that one out after last night.” John rudely interrupted.

“—but you wouldn’t admit it to yourself until last night. Perhaps because you’re attracted to a man, no, you didn’t want to make advances unless you knew for certain that I reciprocated.”

“So that means you do?” A look of disgust danced across Sherlock’s face. “…reciprocate, that is?”

“Don’t be dense, John. You said it yourself! After last night, wouldn’t you find that quite obvious? And now you want to talk, possibly to ask whether or not last night was an experiment, to which the answer is no. I realised you were ticklish after you involuntarily twitched after I ran my fingers down your back and I simply did what I did because I _wanted_ to. The sides of the torso are one of the most commonly ticklish areas and it seemed like an open enough opportunity.”

Brilliant.

“But if the opportunity were to arise again, I would rather fuck you than tickle you. Now is there anything else that you wish to ‘talk’ about?”

Wait, what? _Oh god._ John coughed, “Well then… no “ _Forget the tea_ , he thought as he strode quickly to where Sherlock stood, leaning him slightly against the table. “You wouldn’t mind if we tried again then? Properly this time?”

“I’d like that _Doctor_ Watson.” Sherlock whispered so deeply that it felt like a vibration, seeping through John’s bones and traveling rapidly towards his groin. He grasped the back of Sherlock’s head, gripping lightly on his raven curls and pulled him down for a kiss.

But there was something, something _distracting_. Oh, not again.

“Sherlock… is that a biro in your pocket?”

“Wow, I’d like to think more highly of myself than a biro. You must really work on your innuendos.”

“No, seriously.” John reached into Sherlock’s pocket and pulled out two black ink pens. “Sorry, I’m just a bit out of it right now.”

Sherlock sighed, grabbed one of the pens out of John’s hand, opening the cap and writing S-H-E-R-L-O-C-K H-O-L-M-E-S across his bare chest. They smiled at each other for a moment before moving in to nip at each other’s lips once more.

\----------

An hour later Mrs. Hudson climbed the steps up towards 221B hoping the boys were awake for some breakfast. She certainly was not their housekeeper, but sharing a bit of breakfast with the detective and his nice doctor friend was a pleasure every once in a while. It was a surprise, however, when she stumbled into the flat to find the pair in the nude… covered in ink?

“It’s your turn, John, I just put down an O while you were scribbling nonsense on my thigh! If we’re going to play twelve out of twenty-three like you insisted at least keep up!” Sherlock muttered.    

 _Oh boys_ , she giggled silently as she turned around and walked back down the stairs to her own flat. _Just wait until Mrs. Turner hears about this one._ Perhaps breakfast with Sherlock and John would have to wait another day.  

It was just then that Mrs. Hudson heard from the flat above-- “HA! You may be the Tickle King, Doctor Watson, but I am the Czar of Noughts and Crosses!”


End file.
